seen you skip that cautious lip
by ratherembarrassing
Summary: pezberry week day 2: living together. a benign little drabble and then they bone this.


_pezberry week day 2: living together_  
_a benign little drabble + and then they bone = this._

_unbetaed, and apologies for the alternating POV. it was cute when it was 500 words, and then 2000 works of porn happened._

...

They're both convinced the apartment is made out of papier-mâché.

…

She learns more about Rachel in three months than she did in four years.

Rachel's day starts with a lot of noise.

She sings Don't Rain on My Parade as she leaves for her morning run, New York New York in the shower when she returns, and a mystery song while she's making breakfast.

There's this obnoxious kettle that lives on their stovetop that actually whistles when it boils. There are five million, no exaggeration, boxes of tea taking up space in their very small kitchen, and she's working on trying to decode the meaning behind Rachel's daily tea choice. She's also investigating how to melt metal with her mind.

Rachel's never met a door she knew how to close quietly, so the five times she changes her clothes before leaving the house is fun. And by that Santana means she's undecided yet if she'll rip every door off its hinge or get her lesbian on and go buy a can of WD-40.

Rachel paces. A lot.

There are three squeaky floorboards in her bedroom, one in the kitchen, and four in the living room.

Santana's worked out that the location of Rachel's pacing is the key to why she's pacing.

Living room is school-related, kitchen is fathers- or health-related - this can be narrowed down by her food choices - and bedroom is Finn-related.

At least it is until the first time Rachel brings someone home. Then it's boy-related.

(And then it's boy-or-girl-related, and Santana actually spends three days sleeping on a friend's couch in Brooklyn because she cannot be a part of Rachel's sexual awakening.

The toaster oven she buys Rachel afterwards is banging.)

Speaking of. Rachel is quieter than Santana would have guessed.

…

Santana Lopez is an incredibly odd individual to live with, at least as far as Rachel is concerned.

She sleeps all day, and is in and out at all hours. Rachel has come home from morning classes to find her just rolling of bed, and she has come home from morning classes to find her just getting in for the night.

Apparently no longer being a cheerleader also means engaging in the worst eating habits Rachel has ever witnessed. The sound of meat cooking is almost as bad as the smell, and it's even worse at 3am, which must be the best bacon-eating time.

There is no space in their freezer because of the six different flavors of ice cream taking it all up. Rachel regularly replaces the chocmint even though she doesn't eat it. It's safer that way.

Santana uses all the hot water at night, twice over.

She showers before she goes out, leaving wet towels all over the floor, and she showers when she gets home, even though Rachel's sleeping and the pipes make this banging noise she turns them on and off.

The only respite from the banging pipes is when she brings someone home. If there's no banging pipes, Santana's in an especially good mood the next day.

Rachel's not in a good mood on those days. Santana is loud from start to finish.

…

Now that she's not getting laid on a regular basis, she's pretty much horny all the time. So sue her if she likes to rub one out to get her through the day. Santana tries to be considerate about these things, and she thought Rachel had gone already.

It's not like she's never heard Rachel do it. The end of the month? Girl goes to _town_ on herself. She buys earplugs and a bag of Hershey's Kisses. The latter saves her from having to listen to Rachel cry over commercials for the Olympics.

…

It's really not polite to mention to your roommate that you can hear them. You know. _Masturbating_.

She never would have, but it's imposible to ignore the fact that she saw, and Santana saw her see, and it's incredibly awkward until Santana comes home the next day and tosses a collar with a bell on it.

"I should make you pay for my earplugs," she says, and Rachel turns bright red.

…

Their cycles sync and all hell breaks loose. It only takes a few months three months; she knows she's totally off her previously established cycle by now, and she's become intimately acquainted with Rachel's moods and she really, really should run away right now before they both actually start.

Instead they're in the their tiny kitchen, and she only calls it a kitchen to be polite, fighting about whatthefuckever. Or they were fighting, until she backs Rachel up against the fridge and covers her mouth with her hand to get her to just stop talking.

Rachel pushes at her, and she pushes back, and they end up with their legs tangled and chests pressed against each other, and Rachel tries to twist away but something goes horribly wrong and Santana can't stop the noise she makes.

It's not a moan. She _isn't_ turned on by this.

…

Rachel freezes, and the first thing she thinks is she's hurt Santana. She pulls back and Santana makes the sound again.

"Oh my god," she shrieks, because she can see the burn in Santana's look and her fists curl into the material of Santana's top.

"Shut up," Santana hisses, her eyes clenched shut.

"But-"

"Shut up!"

Rachel takes in Santana's face, her labored breath and heaving chest, and then her own state of arousal. She takes the time to lick her lips and then surges forward, Santana falling back against the wall behind her before Rachel can bring their lips together.

She's already pulling away, regretting her usual lack of thought before diving right in in situations like this, when Santana's hands sink into her hair and bring her in closer.

…

This is a bad idea, she thinks as she pushes Rachel back to the other wall.

This is a terrible idea, she thinks as she moves them over to the kitchen bench.

This is the worst idea ever, she thinks as she palms Rachel's ass before hauling her up onto the bench, legs wrapping around her waist.

"Oh god, please," Rachel pants in her ear.

Why haven't we done this before now, she thinks.

…

Santana bites at her neck, her collarbone, and then her shoulder, nudging her shirt and bra out of the way.

"Don't leave a mark," she says, "I have an audition on Friday."

She can feel Santana smile against her skin. "I would never," she says. "Hear the end of it," she finishes.

Rachel pinches the skin under her fingers, under the edge of Santana's top. "You really wouldn't," she chuckles as Santana tries to wriggle away from her hand.

…

Rachel doesn't let her get far, arms and legs holding her flush against her body.

She kisses her again, because Rachel knows how to get that _done_. Minutes or more pass and she's practically writhing against the edge of the bench and Rachel sitting above it, her body rolling at the feel of Rachel's tongue against her own, her hands stroking her sides.

She makes some space, she needs to breathe for a second, and takes to opportunity to drag her hands up, under Rachel's shirt to cup her breasts through the sheer material she finds there.

She's really, really gay, but even if she wasn't she'd still think Rachel has the most awesome tits. Even without having seen them that time she'd walked in on Rachel just getting out of the shower, she knew they would be.

…

The bench isn't going to work at all. She can't reach Santana and that's just not acceptable.

"Did you mop the floor like I asked," she says, and Santana's hands on her breasts stop whatever it is they're doing that feels so good. She whines and leans into the hands impatiently.

"Why?"

"If you did, we can have sex on it."

The sound Santana makes is obscene, and she really needs to get out of her clothes now before she makes a mess of them.

…

Santana pulls Rachel off the bench, down to the floor and she's about to push her back to the tile when Rachel scrambles into her lap, knees bracketing her hips and hands pulling at Santana's top.

"I want to see you," she huffs when she doesn't get very far, and Santana laughs at her pout. She pulls her top off, and Rachel unclasps her bra before she gets a chance.

"You, too," she says when Rachel goes straight for her tits, because she wants in on this as well. When they're both naked from the waist up, she brings Rachel in close, kisses at her mouth and lets their chests rest against each other, the tiniest movement of their breathing sending a distracting frisson straight to where she's already wet.

…

Santana's hands are fidgeting at her thighs, clenching and stroking, and she breaks their kiss when she realizes Rachel in a skirt and she can easily slip her hands underneath.

She would probably be embarrassed by just how wet Santana finds her, but she can smell Santana's arousal through the tiny shorts she's wearing and she knows they're equally far gone into this thrillingly erotic turn in their cohabitation.

"I can see you thinking. Stop that and stand up so we can both get our naked on."

…

Rachel doesn't go any further than standing, feet on either side of Santana's knees, to shimmy out of her skirt, underwear going with it, and then she's back on her own knees before Santana has a chance to truly appreciate all that leg, helping Santana struggle out of her shorts.

They're both naked now and, for a girl who screamed at her to close her eyes that time she walked in on her naked, Rachel doesn't seem to have a problem when Santana slips her hand between Rachel's legs, fingertip tracing the length of her before pressing between folds and going straight to her clit.

…

She's not going to let Santana get away with running this for long, but it feels so good she can't stop it just yet. She truly has been on edge for a few days now, and if the choices are ripping Santana's head off and this? She chooses this.

Santana's hand twists and a finger presses into her more firmly, and god does she choose this.

She can feel her hips settling into a rhythm and she pulls herself away with a small whine. "Wait, wait," she says, and grabs Santana's hand to still it.

…

She knew this was too easy. Who sleeps with their roommate? Lesbians who need to get out of their apartment and get laid, that's who.

"Fuck," she sighs, and she leans back onto the cupboard behind her, hand rubbing across her face. "Fuck, I'm sorry."

"Hey, no," Rachel rushes, and Santana's hand is pulled away from her eyes. "It's okay." She bites at her lip for a second, eyes looking up from beneath dark lashes. "It's more than okay."

Oh. "Okay…"

"I just wanted to know if you wanted the sore knees or the sore back."

"What," she says automatically, before Rachel's meaning sinks in. "Oh. Whatever, you choose." She pulls Rachel back to her, because thank god, but Rachel twists them sideways and apparently she's the one getting the sore knees.

…

Rachel lets Santana settle between her legs, and the pressure has her arching into the body above her. Santana's right hand is in her hair, tugging it gently, her left tracing sweeping lines from her chest to her hip, getting lower each time.

With each sweep, with each countering arch, she needs Santana inside her more, and she lets the hand she has on Santana's hip circle around the ridge of bone in widening circles until her thumb is skirting the edge of neat little curls.

They're chasing each other closer and closer. Her thumb catches the side of Santana's clit just as Santana's fingers repeat the line traced down her folds from earlier.

…

She can tell Rachel's getting agitated, and that's no fun for anyone, so she pauses with her fingers at Rachel's entrance and brings her mouth to Rachel's ear. "Inside," she asks.

Rachel bucks into her hand, legs spreading impossibly wider, "Yes, yes," and Santana presses in, two fingers, and thumbs at her clit, making Rachel cry out.

"You, too," she asks between breaths, and Santana shakes her head no.

"What you're doing is good," she says, and Rachel presses with firmer fingers. "Really good," she says, burying her head against Rachel's neck.

…

She _is_ embarrassed by how quickly she comes, if only because she doesn't want it to be over yet.

It's not her fault, it's hormones and the rush of a good fight they never finished, though she supposes this is a finish of a kind, and Santana is also very talented with her fingers.

She shatters around Santana's fingers, which continue to thrust into her until all she can do is push weakly at Santana's wrist while waves after wave shudders down her legs and up her torso.

But she recovers quickly when her senses return to her and Santana is practically humping her unmoving hand. She's not going to leave Santana to get herself off, and she sits up, taking Santana with her. With two free hands she returns to the bruising strokes that Santana seems to prefer against her clit, her mouth and other hand matching her rhythm against each breast until Santana seizes against her for a long, still moment, hand catching Rachel's and holding it in place against her.

…

As her muscles unlock and she begins to pulse against Rachel's fingers, she lets Rachel continue to stroke her as she slumps against Rachel's body.

She keeps her eyes closed, because if things are going to get awkward between them, which she_really_needs about as much as she needs a hole in her head, it's probably going to start in three… two… one…

…

"Well," Santana says when she finally catches her breath.

Rachel's laugh is slow and deep. "Can we do this every month?"


End file.
